


blue the fire in your skin

by wednesday



Series: Writing Rainbow [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Huddling For Warmth, Hypothermia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-18 00:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19965892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesday/pseuds/wednesday
Summary: Even the weather here is trying to kill Dorian.





	blue the fire in your skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Asymptotical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asymptotical/gifts).



In the time it takes him to blink, Dorian walks bodily into someone and almost topples them both over. In his defence, he’s so cold he’s blinking about as fast as a sloth demon. Also in his defence, the wind and snow are forceful enough to knock people off their feet without any help from Dorian. 

“What – Dorian? What are you doing out here?” Oh, excellent! Judging by that lovely voice it’s their Inquisitor that Dorian’s just walked into. Really, Dorian might as well keep his eyes closed with how little he can see through the swirling snow. 

“Why, enjoying the weather!” he says and misses cheerful by approximately the width of the Waking sea. “What did you _think_ I was doing?” It comes out sounding more biting than Dorian was going for and with some distant part of his mind he regrets snapping at Lavellan. 

After a pause which makes it very clear he’s noticed Dorian’s mood, Lavellan brushes past it, fearless as always. “Come on, come inside. You look half frozen.” He pulls Dorian forward when he hesitates, or more accurately, tries to understand the words through the icy fog in his head. Movement is confusing in the white nothingness that is the Sahrnia camp today. After a minute of being pulled and pushed around Dorian feels the force of the wind suddenly stop. 

After he blinks a ridiculous number of times he realizes it’s dark because they’re inside a tent. Lavellan enters his field of vision and starts fussing with Dorian’s clothes. 

“Creators, you really are frozen,” he says, and his attempts to remove said clothes get more urgent. “What _happened_?” 

“The ice was thin.” Short and to the point. Not like him at all, but Dorian doesn’t have the clarity required for long, artfully embellished stories. 

“The– ?” Lavellan’s fingers on the buckles of Dorian’s armour freeze for a moment. “You walked all the way back from the river like this? Through a blizzard?” 

Dorian makes a neutral sound and considers helping with the iced over armour. He gives the idea up almost immediately when his hands refuse to cooperate. 

“Varric and Bull just left you? They were supposed to be with you on that trip!” He sounds upset. Lavellan, who on any other day Dorian would describe as far too nice and forgiving, being upset on Dorian’s behalf. What a thought. 

“I was fine,” he insists, because no matter how flattering all this concern is, he doesn’t want to get Bull and Varric in trouble. They’d been nice enough to refrain from showing any amusement at his fall into the water. “They’re with the Captain, sharing what we found.” 

“There’s a blizzard outside, no one will attack us while they’re too busy digging themselves out of a snowdrift.” Lavellan gets Dorian’s coat and shirt open at last and removes them from Dorian’s person. The ice has made them far more solid than garments should ever be, for any reason. 

“Rage demons. There are definitely rage demons in one of the camps.” 

“Their fire will go out from all this snow. Now, lie down.” Lavellan pushes Dorian towards a veritable pile of blankets and furs, palm on his naked chest and it feels like a brand. His skin burns and the feeling of flames doesn’t subside when the touch ends. 

“That’s. You know that’s not how rage demons work,” he says and pauses. What does happen to a rage demon in a blizzard? He’s never thought about it before. The wind makes an exceptionally loud howling sound and the tent sways at the force of it. “It’s cold enough that they might. Maybe.” 

Lavellan smiles at Dorian’s pensive tone. His face is paler than usual in this abominable weather and Dorian tries not to imagine what it’s done to his own complexion. 

Lavellan moves on to undoing the buckles of Dorian’s trousers and boots. They descend into a comfortable silence interspersed with the howling of the wind outside. Or perhaps the silence is uncomfortable? Dorian is surely shaming his ancestors with his current inability to recognize the exact shade of silence this is. 

Dorian would like to think they’re at a place where the silence might be comfortable. On the other hand, Lavellan had made himself scarce after that whole debacle with Dorian’s father and, well, that was as clear a hint as any. Dorian isn’t just good, he is excellent at taking hints like that, what with all the practice he’s had. Only this time he really doesn’t want to. It’s rather sad all around – Dorian unable to keep away and now Lavellan throwing oil on the fire by being kind and, Maker, helping him undress. 

Dorian’s frozen boots come off and then Lavellan pulls his remaining clothes off leaving him very naked. Normally he might feel bitter at the indignity of the situation, but Lavellan’s serious expression makes him think quite a lot more is at stake here than just his dignity. 

“Ah, here I am, splayed out on these furs that pass as your bed. I could swear I’ve read some novel of Varric’s that starts like this.” Oh, lovely, the cold makes him unable to control his words. Explains so much about the Fereldans. He tries to muster up the will to apologize, but Lavellan just grins and pulls several blankets over Dorian. It’s a very lovely grin, much to Dorian’s misfortune. He’s been doing his absolute best at not noticing Lavellan’s many attractive qualities, but there are limits to what he can do. 

The blankets though. They should warm Dorian up, but he can’t feel them at all. Distantly he knows this is probably very concerning. 

The next thing he knows is Lavellan’s undressing in a hurry and joining Dorian under the blankets. 

_That_ Dorian feels. 

Every inch of skin where they are touching feels like being burned alive, like Lavellan’s the rage demon in a clever disguise. Dorian tries to move away, put some space between them, but Lavellan wraps his arms around him and holds on like burning light-stone. Dorian knows he makes some kind of pained sound, several probably, but he can’t hear them. 

The next few minutes feel like hours. Dorian starts shivering after a while when the burning lessens and soon that becomes equally as distracting as the fire. 

Only after that subsides as well does Dorian regain enough presence of mind to realize Lavellan is whispering, has been whispering for a while now. It takes him a minute to focus enough to separate words from the sounds of the wind outside. 

“–sorry, so sorry, Dorian. I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t.” Dorian has to clear his throat to make his voice halfway presentable, “I don’t think you have anything to be sorry for.” Definitely one of the nicer things someone’s done for Dorian’s own good. 

“Sorry. You were too cold for anything slower and less painful.” Lavellan does sound regretful, which only serves to reinforce Dorian’s belief that he’s too nice to be real. Lavellan’s hold on him relaxes enough for him to lean back until they can look at each other. He doesn’t let go completely, though. 

“I must ask, is it normal for you to running so hot? Are you certain you aren’t possessed by a rage demon?” Dorian asks to lighten the mood. It works perfectly and Lavellan’s smile is another thing that warms Dorian right up. Along with the way their naked bodies are entwined, skin to skin. 

“I don’t know, am I?” Lavellan asks like a challenge. Oh, Dorian’s missed this teasing during all the time he’s been spending avoiding dealing with Lavellan avoiding him. 

“Well, the approximate temperature of a volcano is a bit suspicious, you must admit. Until now I would have guessed desire demon, but–” Oh. Oh no. Dorian is still not fully in control of himself. That must be the explanation because surely he would know better than to say such a thing right now. 

He flounders too long and it must become clear he’s surprised himself, as well, with his own words. 

Lavellan doesn’t answer right away. His eyes widen in surprise, though, and then he – blushes? Yes, Dorian’s sure the pinkish tinge in his face is the result of his words. 

That’s. Good? He’s not quite sure if he should be apologizing or forging on with even more compliments. 

Lavellan whispers a near silent _Oh_ and Dorian’s unsure he could look away if he tried. He isn’t given much more time to deliberate on a course of action – Lavellan closes the distance between them once again and presses his burning lips against Dorian’s. 

Lavellan tastes like fire. 


End file.
